


Guarded Silk

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2017, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 08:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12384924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: “Are we gonna—˝“Shush.” Hajime pushes Oikawa against the entrance door of the room, his body glued to Oikawa’s. Their chests seem to wave in sync, Hajime’s hand covering Oikawa’s mouth. He has his head titled to the side, trying to catch any sound on the room they’ve just exited.“Iwa–chan—”Hajime presses his hand harder, and a soft moan leaves Oikawa’s lips.The sound lingers in the air. Hajime’s senses are hyper aware of it, of the feel of its warmth against his palm, of the soft caress of its sound on his ears. He’s still looking at the other room’s door, but suddenly every patch of Oikawa’s naked body is overly hot against Hajime’s suit.





	Guarded Silk

**Author's Note:**

> kinktober's day 9, prompt Lingerie. Because Oikawa will look pretty in anything, but even more in sexy underwear.

Sometimes Hajime wonders if this job was sent by Satan himself to punish Hajime for some unknown crime he committed on his past life. It can’t be in this one, Hajime’s sure, because he hasn’t done anything bad enough to earn himself the torture that’s Oikawa Tooru.

Beautiful, teasing, insufferably annoying Oikawa Tooru, with his pretty smiles and his petty remarks and the way his eyes show every truth his mouth tries to hide. Hajime shouldn’t be feeling as conflicted as he does with his employer, but one must acknowledge Oikawa is not an easy man to treat.

“Iwa–chan.” Hajime inhales deeply, the pet name a slap to his professionality. “Which one you think is better?”

Counting to ten, Hajime lets silence fill the space between them both. Oikawa has that smile, the sharp, unnerving one he uses to piss Hajime off. Hajime stares at him with a blank expression, hoping, _gods_ , _wishing_ it will send Oikawa the message loud and clear: _I give no fucks about your clothes_.

But this is Oikawa, a man who has skin as porcelain, who looks weak and yet could bring down a man twice his weight. Hajime’s never lied to himself pretending Oikawa’s not one of the smartest, more capable man he has ever met. And yet, Hajime’s thread of hope Oikawa will behave with some pity  snaps now broken when Oikawa widens his smile.

Hajime hates this job.

“I don’t care,” he answers with gritted teeth.

“Iwa–chan is no fun,” Oikawa turns around, facing the mirror. Hajime watches him through the glass, and Oikawa sends his way a sparkling smile. The two suits are horrendously hued, and yet, they frame Oikawa’s body with astonishing precision. Hajime’s sure Oikawa will look stunning no matter what he wears, but he keeps the thought sealed on his lips.

“I like the green one.” Oikawa puts it up in the air. “It matches Iwa–chan’s eyes.”

“It doesn’t.”

“But,” Oikawa ignores Hajime’s words, and lifts the purple one. “Purple is the color of passion and success.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s fake.”

“Shush, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa shakes his head, as if dismissing Hajime’s opinions. “You already had your time to talk. You didn’t want it, so now you can’t decide.”

Hajime can’t help himself. He rolls his eyes, and throws at Oikawa a long glare, right in time to catch him chuckling in honest delight. _Dammit_. “It’s not as if you’ll listen to my advice if I gave it to you anyway.”

“True.” Oikawa nods, his eyes darting from one suit to the other. He swings his body together with his gaze, and Hajime has to force his eyes to stay on Oikawa’s reflected expression. The soft sway of his hips follows a soundless tune, and Hajime would think Oikawa’s doing it on purpose if his expression weren’t as mild as it is.

These are the worst times, those moments in which Hajime catches the true Oikawa, the nerd, dumb idiot who made Hajime drive three hours just so he could get a special, glow-in-the-dark pack of underwear, shirt and hoodie that came out with a videogame. The man who hums songs from the fifties no one knows, who always smiles to strangers, who has the most alluring and sinuous movements Hajime has ever seen.

It’s difficult to keep a cold mind and a cooler body when those moments happen, always catching him off guard. The second Hajime thinks he has Oikawa all figured out, the man does something unexpected, destroying all his schemes. Hajime spends his days trying to put Oikawa into a labeled box only to find that box trashed with a single blink of Oikawa’s eyes.

“Yes.” Oikawa says suddenly. Hajime takes a shaky breath, focusing his gaze in Oikawa and his horrible suits. “I’ve decided.”

“Thank god,” Hajime musters. The torture will end soon enough once Oikawa decides which one he’s buying.

“I like none. Let’s go to the next shop.”

“Dammit.”

Oikawa’s laugh is totally intended, and Hajime swears to any god that’s listening he’ll make his employer pay. And he’ll make him pay long and thorough.

 

*

 

The weight of his hidden weapons on his sides is as reassuring as it is unsettling. Hajime doesn’t usually wear any gun beside the one on his belt when he escorts Oikawa around, but tonight’s party has needed him in full gear. The fact Oikawa’s in constant danger should have made Hajime’s steel nerves unmoved by tonight’s event, but Hajime’s not himself when his employer is involved.

To keep the pretence of just an escort, Hajime follows Oikawa around, playing the shy, silent friend Oikawa has dragged into this party. By how tense his shoulders are and the way he carries himself, Hajime’s pretty sure he’s fooling no one.

It’s not as if Oikawa’s making it easier to believe, with the way he’s acting. One would think he actually wants to get attacked by how extravagantly he’s behaving. Hajime doesn’t even want to look at the clothes he’s wearing.

“And Iwa–chan just left me in the middle of the desert!” Oikawa finishes explaining, his hands waving around, attracting all kinds of attentions.

Hajime clears his throat, and musters, “It was only for a minute.” It had actually been an hour, and now remembering how disheveled and mad Oikawa had been when Hajime had driven back to pick him up brings a pleased smile to his lips.

“He’s the worst of _boyfriends_ , isn’t he.” Hajime brittles at the sound of that, and the deadly glare he throws at Oikawa is rewarded with a smile as big as the sun, and as blinding. “But well, what can one do against love,” Oikawa continues, hooking his arm with Hajime’s.

“I’m gonna murder you,” Hajime whispers at him. Oikawa doesn’t even flinch when he musters back, “You’re here specially to avoid that to happen, my adorable brute.”

Oikawa’s dragged away then by some important, well dressed people, and Hajime’s forced to stay back. Playing the sudden part of the boyfriend is as bad is it is stupid, for no one would ever think of them as madly in love. And, more important, it keeps Hajime from actually protecting the stupid idiot from the harm circling the room like sharks smelling blood.

It’s like a caress on Hajime’s nape, the danger. He can almost see it right there, waving like clouds around the small groups of people. His palm tickles, and unconsciously, he caresses his guns, trying to quiet his nerves. Oikawa will be okay, he’s smart enough to stay safe. And anyway, with that crimson half suit half dress he’s wearing, Hajime will have him controlled at all times.

Hajime should have known Oikawa’s a master breaking his damn schemes and his stupid assumptions.

 

*

 

“Excuse me,” Hajime says breathless. “Have you seen, uhm, my boyfriend?” The word tastes fool on his tongue. “Oikawa Tooru.”

The woman arches an eyebrow and gives Hajime such a look up and down it actually gives him a shiver. “I might have.” her smile is sharp like a wolf’s fangs. “What’ll you give me if I tell you?” she purrs, and Hajime has to shake his head before he deadpans something extremely rude at her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, his father…” That catches her attention, the glaze of flirt disappearing on the spot from her eyes.

“Oh, dear. Of course, I saw him leave with Mr. X—”

Hajime’s already running up the stairs, not waiting to hear the rest of her sentence. He should have known, dammit, he should have known Oikawa would never stay put and safe when he could go around creating problems.

It’s instinct what brings Hajime to the right door. Instinct, and almost ten years of safety work. Hajime knocks once, and when the sound of breaking glass comes from the room, he sends the politely rushed knocks out of the picture.

Crashing his shoulder against the door, Hajime only needs one hit to send it open. The room is clean and expensive, the smell of cologne and flowers as intense as it is nauseating. Hajime can only imagine what’s waiting for him at the end of the corridor, and although the thought sends vile to his mouth, he rushes through it as if the devil were chasing him.

It’s not what he was expecting, that’s for sure.

Hajime stops dead on his tracks, breathing heavily, gun at hand. The open area of the room has a sofa and a king sized bed, and on the ground lays Mr. X, —Hajime hopes,— unconscious.

Oikawa stands above the man, a small sculpture at hand, wearing nothing more than a thong and a matching set of stockings and a garter belt. All white and lace. All obscenely perfect hugging Oikawa’s muscular body.

“What the heck are you doing.”

“I should ask you the same.” Oikawa’s voice is missing his usual cheerfulness, the grave tone deep and low. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting you,” Hajime says dumbly. The unconscious man on the floor seems to mock him. “Please, tell me he’s not dead.”

“Of course he’s not dead.” Oikawa sighs soundly, and steps back to leave the sculpture on a table. “I didn’t actually use this, I was waiting for the drug to knock him down.”

“The drug,” Hajime repeats, because his mind has just been blown and he can’t process the current situation. Oikawa pushes the locks of hair away from his face, and Hajime’s stomach clenches in answer. “What drug.”

“Well, Iwa–chan, we aren’t specially sharp tonight, are we.” Oikawa squats beside the man, and Hajime steps forward, as if the body on the ground could hurt Oikawa somehow. “The drug I put on his drink when I was flirting with him.”

“For god’s sake, Oikawa.” Hajime feels color drain from his face. “Are you playing spy now? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Oikawa waves a dismissive hand, while the other searches through Mr. X’s jacket. “I’m not playing spy, don’t be dumb. I just need—” Oikawa’s expression lights up when he finally finds whatever he was looking for. “Bingo! What a perverted man, don’t you think?”

Hajime’s wordless. Oikawa stands up, looking at the picture he’s holding. There’s a sad rictus on his mouth when his eyes fall on Hajime’s. “Papa will be very pleased once he learns I managed to keep his dirty secrets hidden. Again.”

Those words do something really nasty to Hajime’s stomach. He wants to ask, _what do you mean_ , but Hajime has been around this sort of societies long enough to know the answer already.

“It’s okay, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa hides his gaze, suddently embarrassed. “I tried to keep it from you because I really like you, but I guess this is too much, isn’t it.”

“Too much for what.”

Oikawa changes the weight of his body from one leg to the other, the way his eyes avoid locking with Hajime’s as bad as it is seeing him like this, a show of iron vulnerability. Hajime has never been hit harder than now, staring at this strong and yet soft Oikawa.

“To keep working for me. I understand your kind—” Hajime arches an eyebrow at that, and Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Well, however you want to call yourself. Men with honor and shame and a conscience and all that.” Oikawa sighs deeply, and rushes his next words as if it pained him to say them. “You can’t accept this, you can’t accept the fact I dress pretty to keep my father’s little dirty secrets away from the public’s eyes.”

The thought is so utterly wrong and stupid Hajime can’t but snort. Really loud. Oikawa’s eyes widen at the sound of his laugh, and he turns his head with eerily slowness, watching Hajime as if he were now seeing him for the first time. He looks bewildered and blushed all over, the white of the silk a perfect kiss for his body.

God, the way lingerie fits Oikawa’s body is a sin on itself, and Hajime will give everything he has this right second to burn in Hell forever.

“If you intend to fire me, go ahead.” Hajime steps forward, Oikawa’s eyes following him until he stops a breath away from his naked flesh. “But if it’s _my_ decision, I’m staying. Thank you very much for your concern.”

Oikawa doesn’t look convinced, but Hajime feels his loud sigh when Hajime takes the picture from his white fingers. He has been holding it so hard the marks of his nails are forever printed on the paper. “Oikawa, the only thing I want is for you to trust me. To trust I can protect you.” Hajime grimaces at his next words. “And your family, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”

“How heroic,” Oikawa says with mockery, but Hajime’s watching his eyes, and Oikawa’s eyes have always been really bad liars. There’s a veil of insecurity and questions, of needs and wants Hajime drinks until he’s filled to the core. “So Iwa–chan will be my knight in a shining armour?”

“Forget armours,” Hajime smiles. “They get in the way and make moving clumsy and loud.”

Oikawa snorts. “So, exactly how you move all the time.”

“Where’s your dress?” Oikawa’s eyes dart to the side, where a pile of clothes lie in a tangled mess. “You should put it on before—”

But before is already rushing through the corridor, the loud voices of the other bodyguards filling the room. Hajime sends a gaze to Mr. X and his important existence, and then to Oikawa, who’s shivering although he’s standing so king-likely one would think he has never done anything wrong in his life.

“Shit. Okay, Oikawa, you have to trust me,” Hajime whispers in a harsh rush. Oikawa’s eyes are unfocused, his parted lips sending warm breezes of uneven breaths. “Oi, Oikawa!”

Oikawa blinks down at Hajime. “Do you trust me.”

“Don’t be silly, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa answers with a trembling voice. “We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Hajime needs no more. He grabs Oikawa’s wrist and the discarded dress, and runs through the room until he finds the door connecting with the next one. He manages to open it with a kick, and thank their luck, it’s empty.

“Are we gonna—˝

“Shush.” Hajime pushes Oikawa against the entrance door of the room, his body glued to Oikawa’s. Their chests seem to wave in sync, Hajime’s hand covering Oikawa’s mouth. He has his head titled to the side, trying to catch any sound on the room they’ve just exited.

“Iwa–chan—”

Hajime presses his hand harder, and a soft moan leaves Oikawa’s lips.

The sound lingers in the air. Hajime’s senses are hyper aware of it, of the feel of its warmth against his palm, of the soft caress of its sound on his ears. He’s still looking at the other room’s door, but suddenly every patch of Oikawa’s naked body is overly hot against Hajime’s suit.

A second ticks. Hajime’s waiting for the bodyguards to break into the other room, he’s waiting for Oikawa to moan again and destroy the last remains of his sanity.

It’s not a moan, but a lick what sends shudders through Hajime’s body. Oikawa, the damn lynx, caresses the sensitive skin of his palm with his tongue, circling it around. Hajime breathes in shallowly, and unbidden, he rocks his hips forward right into Oikawa’s crotch.

Hajime would love to cup his hand and keep the moan that leaves Oikawa’s pressed lips there, forever caged in his fingers. The fact he can feel Oikawa growing hard against his own cock is enough to send fire through his system, but half of Hajime’s brain is still trying to find a way out the mess they are in.

No matter how attracted Hajime is to Oikawa, —has always been, dammit—, they have more urgent matters now. Hajime tries to ignore the way Oikawa grinds himself against Hajime’s body, and instead of answering him, —of relishing the sweet feeling of it,—, he keeps his full attention on the other room.

The break in is loud and extreme, and Hajime has Oikawa off the door and running through the corridor in the second it takes the bodyguards to find Mr. X on the ground. Oikawa runs as fast as Hajime does, but their physical speed is useless against such a small hotel. Too soon they find the end of the corridor, a wall of glass giving way to the backyard, and stop dead on their tracks.

“There’s no way out,” Oikawa hisses, his hand somehow inside Hajime’s.

“I can see that.” Hajime breathes in slowly, trying to calm himself.

The doors around are all the same except for one, and Hajime doesn’t even think it twice before he grabs Oikawa’s dress, wraps it on his fist, and breaks the window.

“What are you doing!” Oikawa whispers harshly, but Hajime’s already pushing him towards the smaller door.

“Get in.”

“Iwa–chan—”

Hajime doesn’t give Oikawa time to finish his sentence, for he throws himself inside the closet and closes the door with a soft click. He can feel Oikawa breathing heavily on his side, the space so small the only thing filling the air is their bodies, their pants, their heat.

“Iwa–chan…” Hajime can’t but shiver at the whisper of the pet name, not rushed or uncertain anymore. The way Oikawa wiggles his body against his breaks something fundamental on Hajime’s bodyguard mentality. “You were really hot against that window.”

Hajime chortles. As hot as he feels, as much as his hands ache to touch the skin he can’t see anymore, the soft mockery on Oikawa’s words is enough to dissipate the tension of the runaway.

“Your dress was pretty impressive too,” Hajime whispers, trying to turn around. Somehow he ends up crashing against Oikawa, his back against the door, his hands on Oikawa’s naked hips. The silk of the garter belt caresses his fingertips. “Oikawa—”

“The dress was already broken anyway,” Oikawa murmurs, as if his words could fight the way he’s leaning towards Hajime. “That damn idiot ripped it off before I could undress myself like a proper gentleman.”

White fury blinds Hajime for a second, until Oikawa’s hand finds his neck, and it’s another sort of heat that’s burning him. “Iwa–chan, I’ve been thinking of you.”

“Really.”

“Yeah.” Hajime can feel Oikawa’s lips so close, they caress Hajime’s mouth when Oikawa continues, “I’d lay in my bed and make up ways for you to come into my room.” Oikawa’s presses his body from his thighs to his chest on Hajime’s, and Hajime is not sure if there’s enough oxygen in the room for him to keep breathing. “I’d wear nothing, or maybe a sexy kimono. I’d be on my back, or on my knees. Half way through it. Always half way through it.” Hajime doesn’t need explanation, for Oikawa’s hands start to roam through his chest, undoing his tie, undoing his shirt. “And once you came in, I’d tell you: _Oh, Iwa–chan, I can’t cum on my own, please help me._ ”

Hajime can’t help himself when he snorts. They’ve been in the closet long enough for Hajime’s eyes to adapt to the darkness, and at his laugh, he sees Oikawa’s expression soften. It feels as if that’s exactly what Oikawa was looking for, a hoarse laugh from Hajime’s lips.

“We both know you’re very good at making yourself cum,” Hajime whispers with feverish intent. His hands, the only naked surface of his body in contact with Oikawa’s flesh, are aflamed.

“You hearing me moan was also part of my plan,” Oikawa says while his fingers open Hajime’s shirt with expertise. Hajime’s upper half is naked by the time he purrs, “I thought of you rushing into my room one night, and without even asking, you’d shove me into my four and fuck me into oblivion.”

Hajime groans, Oikawa’s words turning a want Hajime wasn’t aware he had into a vivid fantasy. The image goes directly to his cock, and Hajime grabs Oikawa’s hips in a wordless demand. Hajime can’t control himself when he pushes Oikawa towards him and grinds their cocks, tearing soft moans from their lips.

“Mmmh, Iwa–chan, I’ve been wanting you for so long…” Oikawa grabs Hajime’s shirt and jacket and pulls from them, roughly undressing Hajime. It’s so hurried, so desperate, Hajime’s mouth shapes a smirk. It’s almost cute the way Oikawa fights with his clothes. “Your body,” Oikawa musters with devotion. “You know how hard I get every time you walk shirtless through the house?” Oikawa’s voice is accusing, now. “You know how many hand-jobs I have to give myself every day because of you?”

“Do you think that torture’s a one way street?” Hajime can’t believe this deep, hoarse voice is his.

His hands, harsh and fiery, wander through Oikawa’s skin, the line of his thong to the perfectly shaped globes of his ass. When he squeezes them, pushing their bodies closer, Oikawa yelps, going on his toes. Hajime bites the soft skin of his neck, Oikawa’s grip on his naked shoulders sending rivers of heat through Hajime’s chest. “God, Oikawa, I want to see you right now. Why the fuck did I put us into a closet, dammit.”

Oikawa giggles, the sound becoming a moan as soon as Hajime bites him again. “I’m sure— _Mmmmmh_ … I’m sure there’s, _ahh, Iwa–chan_ —” Oikawa rocks his hips against Hajime, Hajime’s hands on his ass leading his movements through the hard pression. “Light. There must be some—”

“I can see your cock,” Hajime says instead of looking for the damn light. Oikawa whimpers, slightly bending his back, giving Hajime’s eyes more room to appreciate what he’s done. “Shit, white fits you.”

“I think so too,” Oikawa sighs breathlessly, Hajime’s gaze watching Oikawa’s crotch with such concentration Oikawa feels his cock twitch in answer. “I always wear the prettiest lingerie in hopes Iwa–chan will see me in it.”

“I’m not seeing much now,” Hajime growls. He pushes Oikawa softly back, the tip of his fingers following the line of lace around his hips and lower back. “But what I see— Dammit, Oikawa, you’re better than any fantasy.”

Oikawa hums, leaning back until his shoulder blades find the opposite wall. His hips are so pushed forward the garter belt presses on his thighs and belly, drawing red lines on his skin. Hajime can see the shape of Oikawa’s hard cock covered in silk, the red, wet head slightly showing over the low waist of the thong.

Hajime’s mouth waters.

“Touch me,” Oikawa purrs, a soft swing of his hips. Hajime feels like a snake being lead by a flute master.

“No.” Hajime undoes his pants thoughtlessly, his eyes never leaving the nice picture of Oikawa’s cock drawn on silk and lace. “I want you to touch yourself. Show me how you’d fuck yourself while you wait for me to come into your room.”

Oikawa’s hips flinch, and Hajime sees a drip of precum lighting the head of his throbbing cock. The way Oikawa’s fingers delineate the borders of the garter belt, down the straps to his thighs, caressing the silk around his hard cock without actually touching himself.

It’s maddening. Hajime grabs his own cock and starts stroking himself, no thought beyond the pleasure of half seeing, half filling the gaps of what his eyes can’t perceive.

“Iwa–chan, show me more,” Oikawa moans, and Hajime clumsily opens his pants wider, pushing them down pass his asscheeks. Oikawa nods, and his hips swirl as if the mere sight of Hajime getting hard as a rock at seeing him were enough to make him come. “Oh, Iwa–chan, will you fuck me once we get out of here?”

“You can bet that pretty ass of yours.”

Oikawa groans. “Will you fuck that pretty ass of mine?”

Finally Oikawa’s hand cups his own cock above the thong, caressing himself. Hajime whimpers softly at the sight of Oikawa’s cock, covered in silk, wet and hard and oh so ready.

“I will,” Hajime promises in a deep, low groan. “I will fuck you so many times, in so many places, in so many ways. Oh god, Tooru, put that damn thing down and show me.”

Oikawa grabs his cock and pushes the thong away, and Hajime licks his lips and rocks his hips forward inside his own grip. “Stroke yourself.”

“How?” Oikawa starts a slow pace, his half closed eyes dazed and blurry on Hajime’s cock.

“How you do it when you think of me.”

When Oikawa does, the world seems to stop. No sounds or movements seem to register for either of them beside their own breaths and their own hands working their cocks. Nothing beyond the fact Oikawa is working himself with abandon and a constant rumble of moans, his hips twisting in such ways Hajime loses his own pace just imagining how he’ll feel when Hajime’s deep inside him.

“Iwa–chan.” Desperate, Oikawa tries to push the thong further down, freeing his tense balls. “Lick, _mmmmh_ , lick my—” Oikawa pushes two fingers in Hajime’s mouth, and Hajime licks them and sucks them exactly how he will suck Oikawa’s cock once they get home.

Oikawa lets his fingers in Hajime’s mouth for a bit longer than necessary. His strokes are faster now, and Hajime rolls his tongue through his sensitive skin until Oikawa’s panting and moaning without control.

There’s a lewd wet sound when Oikawa takes his fingers away. Hajime’s stroking himself in a calculated pace, trying to catch every single flick of Oikawa’s body. The way his lips shape his moans, how his eyes squint when the pleasure is such it almost becomes pain, the spasms on his belly muscles, announcing the beginning of the end.

“What do you tell me in your fantasies, Oikawa.”

“I tell you—” Oikawa lets his hand fall back. In this darkness, in that position, Hajime can’t see, but he can imagine how it looks like, when Oikawa puts the fingers Hajime has licked inside his hole. The whimper he lets out is the best sound Hajime will ever hear. “ _Oh, gods_ — I tell you: _Iwa–chan, I’ve been hard for you for hours. Take responsibility_.”

“Do I?” Hajime’s breathing is uneven, his cock hard and tense and swollen, every gasp, every sentence, bringing him closer to the sweet end. “Do I take responsibility of that hard cock and that wanton ass of yours?”

“ _Yees_ ,” Oikawa whines in a shaky breath. He’s rocking his hips forward and backwards, fucking his hand, fucking his fingers, always watching Hajime fuck himself. “You fuck me so hard and thorough, Iwa–chan. I love—” Hajime fastens his pace, and Oikawa whimpers when he sees it, fastening his own. “—to imagine you so undone by the sight of me you can’t even pretend to be a thoughtful lover.”

“But I am,” Hajime pants, and it’s his time to rock his hips forward, trying to reach Oikawa’s hand, Oikawa’s cock. “I’ll fuck you until you don’t even remember your name.”

“Promise me,” Oikawa orders furiously, his hands working with the same vehemence his words drip.

Hajime can’t take this any longer, the sight of Oikawa, his words, his imaginary. He steps forward, his hand never stopping his harsh strokes, and forces Oikawa to let go of his own cock. Oikawa whimpers, and then moans until his voice is engraved in Hajime’s mind forever when Hajime grabs his cock and puts it together with his in his hand.

“Iwa–chan, _Iwa–chan_.” Hajime shuts him with a kiss, open mouthed and wet and hot. Hajime pushes his tongue inside Oikawa’s mouth and drinks him whole, pushing at the back of his head the reminder that he has to do this again, he must kiss Oikawa all his life, for that matter.

Hajime devours Oikawa’s mouth as if it were an elixir for eternal life and Hajime about to die. He drinks Oikawa’s moans and Oikawa’s pleas, his lungs as filled as his cock and his balls feel like.

It all builds up on his stomach, a pool of warmth and need and fantasies Hajime promises himself, promises Oikawa through his kiss, that will be fulfilled as soon as they get out of this damn place.

Oikawa comes first, whimpers Hajime kisses away in sync with his cock sending hot release on his hand and their chests. Oikawa grabs Hajime by the nape, riding his orgasm while Hajime keeps thrusting inside his hand, rubbing Oikawa’s cock until his own orgasm hits him like a hammer.

Hajime groans low on his throat, and grabs Oikawa so he stays close and safe, warm and wet by their mess. Hajime pants against Oikawa’s shoulder, shuddering, and leaves a lazy lick on his sweaty skin.

“This was pretty nice for a hand-job in the middle of a runaway,” Oikawa points out after some minutes, his blank expression such a lie it’s absurd. Hajime chuckles softly, feeling Oikawa’s chest moving under his cheek.

“It was pretty nice, period.” Hajime doesn’t want to move. In fact, he wants to find that light and take a good look at Oikawa’s messy state, but real life needs their urgent attention. “Do you think we were loud enough to call someone’s attention?”

“Well.” Oikawa kisses Hajime’s hair, the tender gesture so nice and unexpected Hajime finds himself blinking, unable to think. “I think half of this party’s guests are currently fucking on each of those rooms, so.” Oikawa shrugs. “I’m pretty sure no one thought it odd someone was having sex in here.”

“You did knock someone down, though,” Hajime reminds him, finally able to straighten his back. Oikawa’s cheeks are sweetly blushed, a relaxed, pleased smile on his swollen lips.

Hajime wants to kiss him again. Dammit, he wants to spend his night only kissing that mouth of his.

“They’ll probably think it was some of his mistresses.”

Mistresses. In plural. Hajime shakes his head softly, and gazes at Oikawa’s body, the soft cock hanging from his thong, the bent belt, the white on his chest that has nothing to do with his fancy lingerie.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Oikawa blushes deeply and tries to cover himself, putting the thong in place, covering his nipples with his palms. Hajime looks at his hands, at the skin below, and makes a note to himself: he has to lick every inch of Oikawa’s body next time. “I _wasn’t_ one of his mistresses.”

“Miss G saw you with him.”

Oikawa huffs at that, taking Hajime off guard. “She won’t say a thing. She adores me, and she knows I’ve saved her neck more than thrice as it is.”

“You mean—” But Hajime doesn’t dare finish that sentence. He doesn’t care, he oughtn't ask and he has to take them home so he can fuck Oikawa properly. “It doesn’t matter. Will the dress cover you enough to make it out the door?”

“Probably.” Oikawa throws him a suspicious glare. “What’s gotten into you, Iwa–chan? You don’t seem your usual self.”

“What’s my usual self?” Hajime frowns, his hands working on his clothes, trying to put them back into a respectable pretence. “I’m always like this.”

“Less… nice.”

“What are you talking about?” Hajime puts his hands on his hips and stares at Oikawa as if he were admonishing a misbehaved child. “I’m always nice.”

Oikawa snorts at that and Hajime swears he’s one second from pushing him against the wall and fucking him senseless just to show him—

—show him what, Hajime can’t figure it out before Oikawa purrs, “Must it be your sexual frustration, Iwa–chan? Was it showing on your ill behaviour?”

“I’m gonna give you ill behaviour!”

Oikawa’s cheerful laugh is a blessed chant on the small room, the echo of it the purest rain on Hajime’s skin. Hajime hugs him, tickling him in earned punishment, and the soft pression of Oikawa’s warm body sends a direct hit to his unguarded heart.

Hajime should have known this was going to happen. After all, Oikawa’s the best at breaking his rules and his boxes and his schemes. He’s the best at not staying put where he’s supposed to be, and instead he excels at making Hajime go mad. Hajime ought to be pissed at the unexpected pang in his heart, now beating furiously happy by the sudden attention.

But he can’t. In fact, when Oikawa wiggles in his embrace and laughs eager and free, Hajime can’t seem to mind at all.  

**Author's Note:**

> (づ￣ ³￣)づ
> 
> and again here I come with fluff at the end because i'm a sucker for iwaoi in love and destined to be with each other. 
> 
> don't stop urself from coming into [ma blog](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com/) and yell at me at beautiful iwaoi being in love (literally the most blessed thing in this world).


End file.
